


He Couldn't Save Them

by Authorwastaken



Series: Short Stories Based off Songs I hear [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alone, Angst, Angst and Feels, Based off a song, Blood, Crying, Dream won, Everyone is Dead, Lamanburg is gone, One Shot, Other, Tommy is sad, Tommy is the lone survivor of the war, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authorwastaken/pseuds/Authorwastaken
Summary: He tried. He tried so hard. He couldn't save them. He couldn't even save himself in the end.Lamanburg won, but no one was alive long enough to celebrate.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Short Stories Based off Songs I hear [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914316
Comments: 16
Kudos: 195





	He Couldn't Save Them

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making this series to hopefully improve my writing. I've been writing for a while, and I feel like my skills have plateaued. This is simply an excuse to practice :) Enjoy!

There was nothing left. The only sound was that of feet dragging themselves across the grass. A shuffle, then a stomp as the limping boy struggled to move. Each step urged a drop of crimson to fall on the flowers below, staining their pure white petals. 

His hands clenched at his stomach, desperately trying to hold on just a little longer. He knew the pressure did nothing to plug the gaping wound, but he still tried. His breathing was shaky, but all too calm for someone staring death in the eyes. 

Craters littered the earth, reminders of the gory battles they had fought in. Dust from their crumbled castle rode the wind, mocking him; Something that stood so tall and proud now lay in ruins, echoes of memories lingering in the air. Stray swords and armor were scattered across the area. They were the only things left of his fallen comrades.

He stumbled, foot catching on nothing as his muscles slowly gave out. His body was shutting down, system by system. Still, he forced onward, eyes locked on the horizon. He was almost there. Just a little further. He walked past a flint and steel, a small tuft of orange fur caught in a crack of the iron. 

His mind began to play his best moments, filling him with warmth in preparation for the cold oblivion waiting. He could hear the laughter of friends he hasn’t seen in weeks. He could feel their embrace, taste the dinners they shared. 

Like a film, images of building, cooking, joking, celebrating, laughing, crying, fighting rolled through his sight. He could barely see the pinks dancing in the sky as the sun set, each memory clouding his vision. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. 

His heart skipped a beat, and he knew it was almost time. 

A smile formed on his face as he approached the burial. He stood in front of the stone with somber joy. His cheeks grew wet, tears he couldn’t feel sliding down his skin. They collected at his chin, tickling before they left as well. 

Tommy let his body go, falling to his knees on the loose soil. His hand reached up, gripping the rock like his life depended on it. He could hold it as tight as he wanted, but his life would still be slipping. 

Red streaks ran down the engravement, catching in the letters. He laughed softly, letting his other arm fall, and his stomach gush what little blood he had left. 

“We had a nice run, huh?” He spoke raspily, despair filling his chest and closing his throat. He let out a choked sob, and leaned his forehead next to his hand, further spreading the sick paint. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two music disks. Each was coated in ichor, cracks running down their sleek black bodies. His fingers loosened against his will, and the items tumbled to the dirt. It hurt to see something they had worked so hard for fall as if they were nothing. It hurt more knowing the other wasn’t here to watch them do so.

His head spun, his body ached, his wound throbbed, his throat burned. His brain began to flicker out, consciousness growing weaker. 

“I’ll see you later, Wilbur.” 

The blonde’s body went slack, dropping on top of the grave and soaking the ground with blood. 

  
  
  
  
  


_ Wilbur Soot _

_ May he rest in peace, _

_ knowing he did not die in vain. _

And scrawled messily at the bottom:

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. _

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are open! Give me a scenario and I'll try my best to make it. Feedback is greatly appreciated!


End file.
